


Aoibhneass

by hateful_donuts



Category: Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi | Spirited Away, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Fluff, M/M, Parallel Universes, Romance, Spirited Away AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hateful_donuts/pseuds/hateful_donuts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old memory repeated itself on loop in Hux’s mind. </p><p>A cold evening, a warm coat that smelled of campfire, and a pleasant voice.</p><p>(<em>I wish I could weave tales for you; tales of hags and queens and vagrants. How the concubines of old rubbed blackberries across their misery worn mouths. Oh, I long for time. I wish for the time to tell you things, Hux.</em>)</p><p>(Where Hux is spirited away to a world of Victorian mythical splendor, and Kylo is the one who leads him safely through it all.)</p><p>Collaboration with Flashedjunks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aoibhneass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



-

 

 Oxford was _many_ things to Hux.

It was early mornings- watching the sun rise in shades of pink from the roof of his house; it was jealous classmates, and adoring teachers. Intoxicating smells of old ink and ancient books. The curious glances of university students as they observed a boy half their age, absorbing books they couldn’t begin to _grasp_.

These were the ‘little benefits’ of having the ‘professor of literature, Brendol Hux’ for a father.

When he moved, he knew there were things he’d miss forever; things like lying in bed- staring at the ceiling until the bumps of spackle made pictures of ladies and gargoyles.

To Hux, his first home was like another universe. Perhaps, not a good one.

( _It was another universe, all the same_.)

The house he had been raised in had _gradually_ evolved into more than prison made of bricks, wood, and mortar.

He couldn’t remember the moment it became important to him- he couldn’t even remember why.

All he remembered was that it _had_.

The memories were of both good _and_ bad things. They had, over time, melded into one momentous emotion.

What he felt when he finally left the place was _gut-wrenching melancholy_ ; and, surely, the happiest he’d ever be.

-

His memories of early childhood were cloudy. Snippets. Quiet moments with his real mother. How nice she smelled, even though she never wore perfume.

The sound of her voice, adorned in a heavy Irish accent.

Though his father had poisoned him against the brogue from an early age, he mourned its loss when it was buried with his mother.

But, it didn’t matter how fragmented those memories were.

They _lingered_. Even in this cramped, uncomfortable car, headed towards uncertainty, they were simply _there_.

With those memories, came what _had_ to be visions.

 _Memories from a dream_.

Images of a forest path, and a gigantic black dog. Its size had seemed to grow every moment that Hux had stared into its sulphuric red eyes.

When those crimson eyes fixed on him, they flashed like a cat’s.

The car lurched over an uneven patch of road, and Hux shook his head slightly.

( _A pathetic, futile attempt to dispel the image of the beast_.)

Cradling his favourite book closer to his chest, Hux stared out of the foggy window closest to him; it was adorned with stains from rainstorms long passed, swirling into ugly patterns.

On either side of him, a suitcase or a bag would press uncomfortably into his side, no matter which way he turned. He shifted uncomfortably.

The corner of another one of his stepmother Lydia’s ridiculous sewing boxes dug into his ribs.

Comfort was futile.

At least he had his book. Pilfered from a pathetic library many years back, it was the _only_ constant in his life. A well cared for tome, filled with ancient tales of monsters and mermaids and thieves.

As he plucked away at a loose string on his trousers, he mused on the fact that, no matter how many times he read it, he _always_ felt the same emotion.

-

 _Longing_.

-

An old memory repeated itself on loop in Hux’s mind.

A cold evening, a warm coat that smelled of campfire, and a pleasant voice.

( _I wish I could weave tales for you; tales of hags and queens and vagrants. How the concubines of old rubbed blackberries across their misery worn mouths. Oh, I long for time. I wish for the time to tell you things, Hux_.)

A chill of foreboding dripped over his scalp and down his spine.

Hux shuddered, rubbing away the goosebumps on his bare forearms. He should have worn a sweater; asking his father to turn on the heat would only be met with a scoff.

-

Every joint in Hux’s body _ached_.

The sky outside was inky black, stars peeking out like pale jewels. He wished his father would stop the car, and find a hotel for them to spend the rest of the night in. His _ever so intelligent_ stepmother had found an ‘alternate route’- turned out, that meant one hundred and fifty kilometers of dirt roads and suffering.

There weren’t even any streetlights, making the headlights shine eerily on into the darkness.

It looked like they were underwater.

Hux groaned into his hand, elbow propped up on a box labeled ‘office supplies.’ They would be lucky if they reached the new house by noon the next day.

Brendol seemed to highlight his _distaste_ for his only son by indulging his wife’s every request, even if that meant a ridiculous trek through no man’s land.

( _Hux was quite certain the effort was unnecessary- he had known his father was indifferent towards him from the very moment he had learned the word_.)

It was already one in the morning.

Hux’s phone had no network connection.

 _The damned sewing box was leaving a mark on his side that would never fade_.

In what seemed like an answer to every one of his internal declarations of pain and misery, the car jerked over an especially deep pothole. There was a loud bang, and the car swerved to a halt.

The tire had burst.

“Oh, for god’s-” His father threw open the driver’s door, circling the car to asses the damage. His stepmother stepped out as well, nose wrinkled in a scowl. Hux dragged himself over a suitcase and several small boxes, unlatching the door, and standing for the first time in _hours_. His legs nearly buckled right there.

Harsh whispers were traded back and forth between his father and Lydia, her hands flying about like a conductor, and Brendol’s balled into fists.

“If we had just left earlier, _as planned_ , none of this would be happening.”

“ _I’m_ not the one who forgot their precious toolbox in the garage, Brendol!”

“Well, you’re the one who chucked away the spare to fit your _shoes_!”

Instead of amusing himself by observing how his father’s voice became increasingly gruff, and his stepmother’s voice got more and more shrill, Hux looked around the seemingly abandoned countryside they were stranded in.

“-isn’t population in at least _five kilometers_ , we can’t _walk_ -”

“There’s a house up on that hill.” Hux interrupted his father, ignoring the glare it earned him.

House was a bit of an understatement.

It was a grand, georgian manor house, with sloping grounds in every direction. The only reason he had spotted it was because at the very top of the house, a small window shone with golden light.

It was like a beacon in the swamp of dark around them.

“Well, whoever owns such a big place can very well put us up for the night, and send word for a mechanic,” Brendol declared, winding around the car to open the trunk.

Lydia sneered- but followed his father’s lead nevertheless- when he grabbed a bag and began to march up the dusty road ahead of them, obviously looking for a path leading to the mansion. Hux followed behind them at some distance, trying to focus more on the scenery than the fact that their trunk was so full they couldn’t even pack a _spare tire_.

Large trees sprouted up in every direction, and weeds that could have reached his ears choked all visible earth.

 _The whole setting was eerily familiar_.

The trees gradually gave way to overgrown bushes of hydrangeas and rhododendrons, untamed, and almost as tall as the shortest of the trees. The light in the window of the house grew steadily larger- and the feeling of familiarity began to grow until Hux was sure he couldn’t breath.

It was almost _more_ terrifying that he couldn’t remember _ever_ seeing a place like this in his life.

It was terribly, chokingly, nostalgic.

-

The house was lovely. It had large pond on one end of its little park, and looming behind it, invisible at first, was the ruin of a great castle.

His relatives spent no time admiring the scenery: his father marched up to the door, straight backed and proud even in such an embarrassing moment.

With a sharp rap on the door, Brendol took a step back and stared forward expectantly, hands clasped behind his back.

No one answered.

( _Hux was the only one who noticed the light in the window flicker off_.)

After _at least_ ten minutes, during which his father began to tap his foot, the door opened a crack. The shriveled old hag who peeked out at them scowled up at Brendol, ignoring the fact that she was at least two heads shorter than him.

“What is it at this hour?” she croaked

“Hello there. My name is Brendol Hux, this is my wife Lydia, and my boy, Armitage,” He boomed, ignoring the way the lady’s eyes narrowed. Hux glowered at his father’s back. He was no one’s boy; and he was _certainly_ no “Armitage”.

His father would die before acknowledging Hux’s name preference.

As if he wasn’t _good enough_ to bear their “noble surname”.

“Yes, yes that’s all very well and good, but what do you want?” she said, voice cracking.

“Just shelter for the night, if you please.” was Brendol’s curt response. Hux rolled his eyes. Even _he_ had more manners and social skills than his berk of a father.

The door opened wider, and the old crone peered out at them. Her eyes lingered on Hux for a moment, and he shifted uncomfortably. One of her irises wasn’t quite in line with the other.

“Right then.”

She tossed open the door, and before he could stop himself, Hux let his mouth fall open in disbelief. What idiot, a seemingly _ancient_ one at that, would accomodate a perfect _stranger_ in their home?

His father had no problem believing it, and walked straight in; he was used to being waited on and getting what he wanted in life.

Lydia simply followed Brendol.

The old woman gestured them inside and closed the door sharply behind them, leading them over to a dusty staircase. Only then did Hux notice that she held a candelabra, the only source of light in the entire entrance hall.

“This is Laywell Manor, I’m sure you have never heard of it. Classless as the young folks are these days,” she muttered, marching ahead at a pace that, in Hux’s opinion, was frankly shocking for a woman who looked ready to keel over any minute.

Her gray hair seemed to glimmer in the candlelight.

“This home used to be the residence of an earl, but after he went bankrupt, he set out in a desperate attempt to regain his profit. As it happened, the home was situated on top of geothermal spring. So, being the wise man he was, he opened a ‘hotel and spa’.” she seemed to spit the word out as if it pained her. “They were all the craze in victorian days. Tittering nobles longing to fix their ailing health. Quite vapid, in my opinion.” She spoke as if she had been there.

She seemed to pause for a moment as she reached the top of the crescent shaped staircase. An almost sad expression flitted across her face.

“Of course, now, there is no one. No servants, no gardener. No earl. Just- me.”

How sad.

“Now, you may stay in these rooms. They haven’t been cleaned in years, but suppose you’ll have to make do. The only thing I ask, is that you do not visit the grounds. They are dangerous at this time of the night.”

The candle cast flickering shadows across her face, making it seem more gaunt and sallow than it already was. The image was dispelled when she flicked on a lightswitch, and a flickering bulb lit up somewhere above them. With that one cryptic warning, she turned on her heel and marched away, muttering about electricity on her way.

“Mad old bird didn’t even offer her name, or ask about our circumstances. Well. We’ll be expecting you up at six o'clock sharp, Armitage,” his father said, entering a room with a faded ‘20’ painted in peeling letters.

Hux huffed, stalking into the first door he saw, and throwing his bag down on the bed. He wrinkled his nose at the cloud of dust that billowed upwards, coughing and backing up. Throwing open the closest window he could find, he lingered at the windowsill. The view outside was beautiful. The moon was waxing- almost full- and cast a reflection on the large pond beneath his window.

 _If he jumped out now, he would fall in the water_.

The ruined castle stood menacingly nearby, surrounded by tall pine trees. The whole place was eerily still; no crickets or frogs to be heard. A maze, as tall and overgrown as all the other plants, stretched across what seemed like endless land.

For some reason, he _longed_ to go down and travel through it. Glaring at his dusty bed, he bit his lip and made a quick decision.

It wasn’t like he was going to _sleep_ in this rat trap, anyway.

That old crone could be damned.

-

Somehow, he managed to feel his way through the dark, out of his room and down to the main entrance. The enormous door took more muscle to open than he thought, but after several tugs, he was outside.

Stepping out was like entering another _world_. The whole garden was bathed in moonlight, and he could see flickers, soft little lights, all around.

( _Don’t ever follow a will o the wisp, my dear. They’ll lead you wrong. Lead you to death._ )

The maze wasn’t hard to spot, and he wandered over to it, staring up in awe at the masterpiece of box hedge. It was even larger looking from down here- it had to be at least as tall as _three_ of him.

Hux was just about to enter when a cold hand clamped down on his wrist.

“What did you think you’re doing, boy? What did I say about being outside at night!” the old lady screeched, features twisted into an ugly expression of madness. Fingernails bit into his skin.

He yanked his arm away, sneering in disgust.

“Leave me be.”

With that, he was running; headfirst into the maze.

The farther in he went, the taller the bushes around him seemed to grow, looming above in a mockery of a normal hedge.

Left turn.

Right.

The branches grew ever thicker, making an arch over his head.

Right.

Dead end.

It grew darker with each turn he took, shadows creeping in the corner of his vision. He was out of breath, but no matter how much he slowed down or rested, it didn’t let up.

Left.

A long, long path.

And, _finally_ , the end.

The path ahead of him split into two ways, both going deep into the dark pine forest he was sure led to the castle.

It didn’t look anything like the park behind him. He could barely see the moon through the thick black pine branches.

His head was beginning to hurt, but he would never admit to regretting his decision of entering the damned maze. He rubbed his eyes. They stung, in a way he usually got when he felt terribly tired.

He _was_ tired. Very, _very_ tired. Perhaps he was still out of breath, and sitting down would help. Plopping down on a thick area of moss, he lay back.

This was unnatural.

He would never do something so foolish. Never.

When would Hux, a young man of perfectly sound mind, ever even _think_ of sleeping out in the open?

 _Never_.

But, he was so _so tired_.

-

The next time he opened his eyes, a figure loomed above him.

The dog. The hound was the same as ever. Black fur, tinged with green, glowing eyes. A litany of tales and warnings, all in his mother’s voice, echoed in his head.

Stories of the great hound with the coiled tail, who roamed the highlands, and- with three howls- would steal your soul away.

Hux wasn’t scared- in fact, he felt inexplicably sad.

He felt like, if he tried to speak, or to remember what he’d forgotten, he’d end up crying. Raising a feeble hand, he tried to reach the animal.

His vision clouded over.

( _My lovely boy. Never trust a_ _Cù-Sìth. They will deceive you, and bring you to the realm of faeries. If that happened, I’d never see you again!_ )

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> A spirited away au in collaboration with flashedjunks of tumblr! I had fun with this first chapter- if it's absolutely terrible, bear with me- I havent written in a month~.  
> Ps. look up the Gaelic Irish words hidden in here for a fun time :^)


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